


someday, i'll hire us a skywriter

by lotts (LottieAnna)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Love and Friendship and Family, M/M, Secret Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 06:47:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14303154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LottieAnna/pseuds/lotts
Summary: “So you’re boyfriends?”Connor and Dylan exchange a glance, and then Dylan says, “That’s not quite the word I’d use.”(Or: 5 times Dylan and Connor technically told the truth about their relationship.)





	someday, i'll hire us a skywriter

**Author's Note:**

> IF YOU FOUND THIS THROUGH GOOGLING, KNOW ANYONE MENTIONED IN THIS STORY PERSONALLY, OR ARE MENTIONED YOURSELF: please, please click away. This is a work of fiction and nothing written in this story is true. Any accurate information used in this story is publicly available information about public figures, the rest is made up, 100%.
> 
> i started this in july, abandoned it when it was 90% done, then decided to finish it up because the world deserves more alex debrincat. sometimes i think i've grown as a writer but really i'm really just always gonna be trash for these two and this trope and i'm 100% okay with that! also alternating pov (it goes connor->dylan->connor->dylan->connor). enjoy this bit of fluff!

**Mitch Marner**

“Alright, so what’s your deal?” Mitch asks. He’s drunk—they’re all pretty wasted, honestly—and splayed out across their laps, and Dylan’s fingers are interlaced with Connor’s on the floor behind them. It kind of hurts Connor’s wrist, but he’s not gonna let go of Dylan’s hand. 

“What do you mean?” Dylan asks. 

“Like, with you two,” Mitch says. “What’s happening here?” 

“We’re teammates,” Connor says, grinning. “Otters for life.” 

“Pretty good friends, too,” Dylan adds, nudging Connor’s shoulder. 

Mitch rolls his eyes. “Alright, but are you, like, together?” 

“We’re sitting right next to each other,” Dylan says. “Like, we’re in the same place, physically.” 

“That’s not what I mean,” Mitch says. “Jeez, why can’t you guys just give a straight answer?” 

Dylan snorts at that. “No straight answer here.” Connor tries to elbow him for that, because really, that’s a dumb joke, but it’s hard to do that with their hands together, so it ends up more of an awkward lean. 

That’s when Mitch notices their hands. “Are you guys fucking holding hands right now?” he asks, incredulous. 

“Yep,” Dylan says. 

“How did you not notice before?” Connor adds. 

“Because you two are already ridiculous enough,” Mitch says. “That’s it, I’m polling the room.” 

“About what?” Connor asks, but Mitch is already crawling out of their laps and standing up. 

“Attention, top prospects 2015,” he announces, and people pay attention to varying degrees. “Does anyone here know what the fuck is up with these two Otters?” 

“Ask them?” Eichs says, rolling his eyes. 

“They’re not answering,” Mitch says. 

“We’ve answered every question you’ve asked,” Connor says. “Just ask better ones.” 

“Are you two hooking up?” Barzal asks. 

Connor blushes, but Dylan only nods gleefully. “Yep,” he says. 

“Do you guys, like, go out on dates?” TK asks. 

“Do people even go out on dates anymore?” Lawson asks. 

“We’ve… gone to dinner?” Connor says. “Are those dates?” He directs the question at Dylan. 

“Yeah, they count,” Dylan says. 

“Alright, so, you’re dating?” Mitch says, and the rest of the room loses interest. 

“Well, not—I wouldn’t say we’re dating,” Dylan says. 

“It’s more, uh, serious than that?” Connor says. “Is that the right way to describe it?” 

“I’d say so, yeah,” Dylan says. 

“So you’re boyfriends,” Mitch says. 

Connor and Dylan exchange a glance, and then Dylan says, “That’s not quite the word I’d use.” 

“So you’re just, like, in love? Is that it?” Mitch asks. 

“That’s a big part of it, sure,” Connor says, smiling at Dylan, only to find that Dylan is already smiling at him. 

“A really big part of it,” Dylan says. 

“Oh god,” Mitch says. “You guys should work your shit out.” 

“Fuck off, Marns,” Dylan says, throwing an arm around Connor and pulling him in. “Our shit’s plenty worked out.” 

“That’s bull,” Mitch says. 

“We’re happy, so,” Connor says, and he is, because his head is on Dylan’s chest, and Dylan is very comfortable. 

“You good, babe?” Dylan asks, and Connor blinks his eyes open, not realizing they’d fallen shut. The first thing he sees is Mitch mouthing the word “babe” to himself. 

“Yeah, just tired,” Connor says. 

“And wasted,” Dylan says, sounding amused. “C’mon, we should get you to bed.” 

“Probably,” Connor says, and he yawns. “Big day tomorrow.” 

“You’ll be great,” Dylan says, and for a second, Connor forgets that they’re on the floor of Noah Hanifin’s hotel room in Florida and not in one of their bedrooms, and leans in to kiss him, soft and deep and long. 

“How are you guys not boyfriends?” Mitch asks, and that pulls Connor back to reality, and he remembers there are, like, other people around. 

He still has to bite his tongue to keep himself from answering. 

…… 

Back in Connor’s room, Dylan helps Connor get ready for bed, because apparently Connor is much drunker than he’d thought. 

“You’re great,” Connor says, as Dylan kneels down and unties Connor’s sneakers for him. “Aw, you’re on one knee.” 

“Guess the roles are reversed now, eh?” Dylan says, smiling. Connor loves Dylan’s smile, feels like it casts a glow he could bask in forever, and when they’re the only two people in the room, it’s like having a special sun shining right on him. 

“Guess so,” Connor says. “You can’t propose, though.” 

“I can’t,” Dylan agrees. “But I do have something for you.” 

“You do?” Connor asks. 

“Yeah. Well, um, first—” Dylan says, and he fumbles in his pocket until he pulls out the small velvet pouch that houses both of their rings. “Here,” he says, and he takes out Connor’s ring—the one with “19” engraved on the inside—and slips it onto Connor’s finger, before putting his own on. “I also got you this,” he says, and he pulls out a thin gold chain. 

“Oh,” Connor says, and Dylan places it in his hand. The links are smaller than the ones most guys in the league wear, and it feels more fragile, and Connor is afraid he’s going to break it. 

“I thought you could, uh, wear the ring on it, sometimes,” Dylan says. “Think of it as a kind of late wedding present.” 

“I think you’re my wedding present,” Connor says, and it sounds kind of like drunk nonsense, but he thinks Dylan gets what he means. 

“This is a bonus, then,” Dylan says. “Here, let me put it on for you.” He gets up off the floor and climbs behind Connor, and Connor pulls off his shirt. 

Dylan’s hands are warm on his neck, and when the chain is fastened, he presses a kiss to the place where Connor’s neck meets his shoulder. 

“I’m in love with you,” Connor says. 

“I figured,” Dylan says. “When you asked me to marry you.” 

“I didn’t think you’d say yes,” Connor says. 

“But you’re happy I did?” Dylan asks. 

Connor nods. “Duh. If you’d said no, I’d’ve just asked again in a few years.” 

“How do you know I wouldn’t have beaten you to it?” Dylan says. 

“No fucking way,” Connor says. 

“There’s only one way to find out,” says Dylan. “We gotta get divorced and then see who proposes next time we get married.” 

“That’s an awful idea,” Connor says, even though he’s pretty sure Dylan’s messing with him, because he might be his husband, but he’s still Stromer. “We just got married, I don’t wanna get divorced.” 

“What, scared of losing?” Dylan teases. 

“I’m pretty sure as long as I’m married to you, I’m the winner,” Connor says. 

Dylan smiles softly, which pretty much confirms Connor’s last statement. 

…… 

**Mikey McLeod**

Connor comes to Sauga for some ball hockey at the end of the summer. He can’t get there for the big tournament, but they do end up playing with Mikey and some other Stromes and McLeods for a few games. 

Dylan makes sure to put Connor in the net, because it’s unfair otherwise. 

“I hate this,” Connor says, after letting in 4 goals in 2 minutes. 

“Sucks to suck,” Dylan says. “It’s an honor, man. Best forward always goes in net.” 

“Bullshit,” Mikey says. “You’re usually goalie.” 

“Suck my dick,” Dylan says.

“Pretty sure that’s your goalie’s job,” Matt McLeod says, and fistbumps Mikey. 

“Ha ha,” Dylan says, but he doesn’t deny it, and when he turns around, Connor is blushing in Dylan’s favorite way. 

…… 

After they finish up the game, they all retreat to the McLeod house, where Dylan, Connor, and Mikey hole up in the basement rec room.

“So,” Mikey says, eyeing them nervously, “you two, you’re—you’re a thing, right?” 

“Yeah,” Dylan says. “Why?” 

“It’s just, uh, I wanted some—advice?” Mikey asks. 

“You mean, like, romantic advice?” Connor says. 

Mikey nods, and he’s bright red. Dylan would chirp him for it, but he looks so stressed that he decides to be nice. 

“What, like, specifically?” Dylan asks. 

“You guys can’t tell anyone this shit, okay?” Mikey says. “Swear on Lord Comi.” 

“Fuck Comi, I swear on the Stanley Cup,” Dylan says. 

“Yeah, same here,” Connor says. 

Mikey nods. “Good. So, uh, teammates. How does that work?” 

“What do you mean?” Connor asks. 

“Like, you guys were teammates before you were a couple,” Mikey says. “How did you, like, go from point A to point B?” 

“Who are you talking about?” Dylan asks. 

Mikey sighs. “You—who would you guess,” he says, and puts his face in his hands. 

Dylan and Connor are both quiet for a minute, and just when Dylan’s about to feign ignorance, Connor pipes up. 

“Tell me if I’m way off base, but you seem, uh, pretty close with Bastian,” he says, his voice uncertain. 

Mikey keeps his hands in his face, but he nods. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s just—fuck.” 

“It’s rough,” Connor says. “Do you think he’s, like, feeling the same thing?” 

“No,” Mikey says automatically, and then, “Maybe. I don’t know.” 

“Ask him. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?” Dylan asks.

Mikey looks at Dylan like he’s insane. “Like, everything? He could say no, or tell me we can’t be friends, or, like, I don’t know, we could date, and then we’d break up, and then we’d still be on the same team.” 

“Don’t think about it that way,” Dylan says. “Just—if you think it will make you happier, then you should try it. If he says no, you can legit start to move on.” 

“But what if we break up?” Mikey asks. “I mean, that’s, like, premature, but—do you guys worry about that? Or, did you, I guess, because that’s not really an issue for you anymore.”

Dylan freezes for a second, and Connor says, “What do you mean, not an issue?” 

“You know, because you’re not teammates anymore.”

“Oh,” Connor says. “It came up a bit at the beginning, I guess?”

“I thought he was gonna break up with me this season,” Dylan says. 

“You did?” Connor asks. 

Dylan nods. “In January.” 

“You mean right before—”

“Yeah.” 

“That’s so—” 

“I know, but I was—” 

“Alright,” Mikey says. “We get it, you finish each other’s sentences.” 

“Sorry, sorry,” Connor says, but he’s smiling.

“You, too, can achieve this level of adorable—” Dylan gestures between him and Connor, “—once you talk things over with your dude.” 

“Alright,” Mikey says. “Thanks, guys.”

“No problem,” Dylan says, and the conversation turns to hockey pretty fast. 

…… 

“You really thought I was gonna break up with you?” Connor says as they crawl into Dylan’s bed that night. Technically, Connor’s supposed to be staying in the guest bedroom, but Dylan doesn’t think his parents will call them out on this, if they even get caught.

“Well, yeah,” Dylan says. “You were being all distant and fidgety.” 

“For one day,” Connor says. 

“I was worried,” Dylan says. “Sorry, I like you a lot, and I didn’t know what was going on with you.” 

“You like me?” Connor asks, playfully. 

Dylan rolls his eyes. “I fucking married you, didn’t I?” 

“Yeah, you did,” Connor says, and he sounds so happy that Dylan just has to kiss him. 

**……**

**Taylor Hall**

So, Taylor Hall is crying. 

Connor’s a little overwhelmed—he’s not great with people and their emotions, generally, and Hallsy is supposed to be, like, his mentor, so the whole thing feels kind of… unbalanced. 

Still, Connor knows that if their positions were reversed, Hallsy would have his back, because that’s the kind of guy he is—weirdly protective and mentorly, even though he’s more than a little bit of a disaster himself. 

“Hey,” Connor says, tentative. “Is everything alright?” 

“Oh, shit, sorry—” Hallsy says, and wipes his face. “Sorry, I—” 

“No, it’s fine,” Connor says. 

“You shouldn’t—did you just get home?” 

Connor nods; he’s a little tipsy, which Hallsy can probably see. 

“Gaz still out?” Hallsy asks. 

“He was still there when I left,” Connor says. “Do you, uh, wanna talk about it?” 

Hallsy sighs. “Not really,” he says, but then immediately follows it up with, “Just—do you ever think that you couldn’t have something, then realize you could’ve had it, but it feels too late?” 

“Uh,” Connor says, because he’s not really sure what that means. 

Hallsy shakes his head. “Never mind, it was—” 

“Is this about, uh, a person?” Connor asks. “Like, a… person-person?” 

That gets a laugh out of Taylor, at least. “Yeah, something like that.” 

“Okay,” Connor says, his brain catching up to the conversation. “Okay, right. Yeah. You, uh, liked a person, and you thought they didn’t want to—or that you couldn’t?” 

“I thought I wanted to be single when I didn’t, is what it comes down to, I think,” Taylor says. “Fuck all that bullshit about not wanting to be tied down, y’know?” 

“Yeah,” Connor says, and he means it to be sincere, but it comes across as passive. 

“Don’t waste your youth trying to be young, kid,” Hallsy says, and Connor smiles at that, because it’s simultaneously the least and the most Taylor Hall sentence ever uttered. 

“Not gonna be a problem, don’t worry,” Connor says. 

“Bet it’s not, for you,” Hallsy says. “You got someone?” 

“Yeah,” Connor says. “Distance thing.” 

“Cute,” Hallsy says. “Distance is probably good.” 

Connor frowns. “It’s… not my favorite, honestly,” he says. 

“No, you’re right, that was—just, when things go sour, don’t shit where you eat, y’know?” 

“What?” Connor says, lost again. 

“Forget it, I’m talking nonsense,” Hallsy says. 

Connor does not like leaving loose ends, so he says, “Is your– is the person someone you see a lot?” 

“Yep. Because I’m a fucking idiot,” Hallsy says. “Fuck, I didn’t even do anything wrong, y’know? All I did was not do something, like you’re supposed to.” 

“Why would not doing something be the right thing?” Connor asks. 

Hallsy fixes him with a look. “C’mon, man, you know.” 

“Is it—” something clicks in Connor’s brain. “It’s a guy on the team.”  _ Ebs, _ is what Connor doesn’t say, because that probably won’t make Taylor feel any better. 

“Yep,” Hallsy says. “I just—I was so sure it was gonna happen years ago, and then it didn’t, and I put my shit aside, and he shows up out of the fuckin’ blue and springs like, ancient fucking feelings on me like—like all the opportunity and shit we had when we were younger is still there, y’know?” 

Connor doesn’t know; Connor’s never thought that anything but the best was still to come. He’s still a rookie, and still a teenager, too. Hallsy’s also still way too young for this kind of thinking, so Connor tells him so. 

“I wouldn’t say it’s too late,” Connor says. 

Hallsy rolls his eyes. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Probably not,” Connor says. “But I—we were on the Otters together,” he says. 

“Who?” Taylor asks. “Your—your boy?” 

Connor nods. “Yeah.” 

“So it’s the Strome kid,” Hallsy says. “Can’t say I’m surprised.” 

Connor shrugs. “We’re kind of, uh, low-key?”

“Gotcha,” Taylor says. “But you’re trying to make the distance thing work.” 

“I think we’re succeeding, yeah,” Connor says. 

“Good,” Taylor says. “That’s—that’s good for you. Hope it works out.” 

_ It will,  _ Connor thinks, because they’re married, but also because it’s him and Dylan. He doesn’t say that, though, just says, “Thanks,” and then, “Did you tell him no?” 

“What?” Taylor asks. 

“You said—you said he told you he had feelings for you. What did you say?” 

“I told him I used to, but I didn’t anymore,” Taylor says. “I—I think I might’ve been wrong, I guess. Which really fucks shit up.” 

“I think there’s, uh, a window,” Connor says. “If you wanna take that back.” 

“Not when it’s 5 years in the making,” Hallsy says, which Connor thinks is bullshit. 

“Suit yourself,” Connor says. “But—I think you’ll make it work. Just—if you’re upset about it, do something.” 

“What, like you’re the expert?” Hallsy says.

“I’m not the one crying,” Connor points out. 

Hallsy looks startled, and then starts laughing. “Fair point,” he says. “Alright, I should probably make a phone call.” 

Connor nods, and he’s suddenly aware of the ring on a chain against his chest. “Me too,” he says. “Night.” 

“Thanks,” Hallsy says, patting him on the shoulder, and then he adds, “Good night,” before retreating to his room. 

Connor’s pretty confident that Hallsy won’t be coming out anytime soon, so he pulls out his wedding ring and admires it. Then, he texts Dylan. 

_ glad i locked you down :),  _ says Connor. 

Dylan texts back quickly.  _ not divorcing me any time soon?  _

_ probably not ever tbh,  _ Connor replies, and then hits call.

“Hi,” Dylan says, and his voice is warm. “Thought you were out.” 

“I was, but I came back,” Connor says. 

“Are you drunk?” Dylan asks. 

“A little bit. Not that much,” Connor says. “I miss you.” 

“I miss you too,” Dylan says, and he sounds so fucking sincere. 

“Yeah?” Connor says. 

“Of course, idiot,” Dylan says, doing that thing where he manages to make insults sound fond. “What’s going on with you tonight?” 

“I dunno,” Connor says. “Just—we made the right choice.” 

“I think that’s still to be determined,” Dylan says. “Haven’t even been married a year.” 

“We’re gonna make it,” Connor says, and he believes it, but he also just… knows. It’s him and Dylan, and they’re gonna make it, and they’re married, and Connor is so fucking lucky. “I, uh, told Hallsy that we’re together.” 

“What?” Dylan says, and he sounds surprised. 

“Is that okay?” Connor asks, suddenly worried that he should’ve cleared it with Dylan beforehand. They’ve talked about telling their teammates, but that was before camps and roster cuts and everything. 

“No, yeah, I’m just surprised,” Dylan asks. “I dunno, guess we’re, like, a legit couple, now.” 

“I think we’ve been a legit couple for almost a year,” Connor says. “Three hundred and forty nine days, I believe.” 

“Holy shit, that’s—our anniversary is soon.” 

“What, you don’t have anything prepared?” Connor teases. 

“Fuck you,” Dylan says. “Of course I do. Better than whatever lame gift you came up with.” 

“It’s fucking  _ on _ ,” Connor says, because he loves Dylan, and he really loves competition. 

“Bring it. I’m gonna be the best fucking husband, man. Prepare to be swept off your feet.” 

“Can’t wait,” Connor says, smiling into the receiver. 

**……**

**Alex DeBrincat**

Alex DeBrincat is one of Dylan’s favorite people, except for how he’s also the #1 cockblock in Dylan’s life, which is impressive, because he tops a list that includes conflicting schedules and the distance between Erie and Edmonton. 

The thing is, Connor and Dylan are really good at getting around those things. Mostly with late nights and Skype sex. Getting around Alex, though, is trickier, because Alex—again, one of Dylan’s favorite people in the whole wide world—has no idea how to fucking  _ knock.  _

Which makes for moments like this: Dylan, watching Connor finish all over himself, on the brink of his own orgasm, and suddenly, Alex just opens the fucking door. 

“Hey—oh, shit, sorry,” Alex says, and then turns right back around and walks out.

“Babe?” Dylan hears Connor say through the headphones. 

“Alex just walked in, think I’m gonna die,” Dylan says. 

“Oh,” Connor says, kind of breathless, and Dylan’s still so fucking turned on. “So you’re not gonna—” 

“Would it be sad if I did? I’m just—really close,” Dylan says, and he starts jerking off again. 

Connor laughs, bright and sweet in his ear, and Dylan can see his ring on the screen, and apparently that’s what it takes to get Dylan over the edge. 

He gets off on being in love with his awesome husband, whatever. 

Of course, Alex knocks on the door while Dylan is still in the process of coming down from his orgasm. “Can I come in again?” he says. “My phone’s dead, I need my charger.” 

Dylan rolls his eyes, because honestly. “Can you give me, like, two fucking minutes?” he says.

“Sure, sorry,” Brinksy says.  

“Be nice,” Connor says. Connor, who is all the way in Edmonton and leisurely cleaning himself off, because his roommate has some sense of boundaries. 

“Don’t wanna,” Dylan pouts, which isn’t really true. He just also wants a little quality time with Connor, which, evidently, isn’t going to happen. 

Sighing, Dylan wipes himself off and throws on a shirt and some boxers, then yells, “I’m decent.” 

“It’s really just about my charger,” Brinksy says again. “Swear I’m not trying to see anything.” 

“Didn’t think you were,” Dylan says. 

“Tell him I say hi,” Connor says. He’s wearing a shirt, but Dylan’s angled the computer away so Brinksy can’t see the screen. 

“Tell him yourself,” Dylan says. 

“What?” Brinksy asks. 

“No, that was—you know what, fuck it.” Dylan unplugs his headphones. “Say hello.”

“Alex!” Connor says, this time through the speakers in Dylan’s laptop. “Hi!” 

“Oh, is that Davo?” Alex says.

“Who else would it be?” Dylan asks, and as Alex climbs onto his bed, Dylan realizes he’s still wearing his ring. 

“I don’t know, you guys could have some, like, arrangement,” Alex says. 

“We don’t,” Dylan says dryly, and shifts so he’s sitting on his left hand. It’s not the most graceful cover-up, but it does the job. 

“What’s up?” Connor says. Dylan doesn’t know how he’s this chipper after sex, but maybe he just is really that excited to see Brinksy. Which makes sense, because Brinksy truly is the best, when he’s not busy accidentally destroying Dylan’s marriage. 

“Y’know, just boring OHL shit,” Brinksy says. “How’s Edmonton? Still awful?” 

“Not any worse than Erie,” Connor says, and he adjusts himself in front of the camera. 

Dylan sees a small flash of gold from Connor’s left hand, and silently starts to panic. 

“Excuse you, I’m in Erie,” Dylan says easily, while wondering if he can get to his phone to text Connor to take off his fucking ring. 

“Me too,” Brinksy adds. 

“I miss you guys,” Connor says, smiling. 

“We miss you too,” Brinksy says, putting an arm around Dylan. “Our new captain is the worst.”

“Fuck off,” Dylan says, shoving Brinksy and smiling a bit. His hand is starting to go numb, but whatever. 

“Hey, back off,” Connor says, and it’s mostly joking, but there’s a part of it that’s serious, and Dylan laughs way too hard at the way Connor blushes. 

“Wow, rude,” Brinksy says, scoffing. “I’m a catch, assholes.” 

“Yeah, it’s true,” Dylan says, and presses a kiss to his hair, because he really is great. “Don’t have eyes for anyone but Davo, though.” 

“Aw,” Connor says, with a pleased smile. 

“Ew,” Brinksy says. “You guys are gross.” 

“We’re adorable,” Dylan amends, and he’s about to say that they have to hang up, except Connor decides to run his fucking hand—like, his  _ left _ hand—through his fucking hair.

Dylan tenses, and so does Brinksy, and Connor must sense that something is off. 

“What are you—oh,” Connor says, and looks down at his finger. 

Dylan squeezes his eyes shut, and he can’t see what Brinksy’s doing, but he can feel his head moving. 

“Hey, Stromer,” Brinksy says, his voice kind of incredulous, “can I see your left hand?” 

“Uh,” Dylan says. “No?” 

“No,” Brinksy says. “Right.” 

“It’s just—” Dylan starts, but Connor cuts him off. 

“Don’t tell anyone, alright?” Connor says, so, okay, they’re kind of admitting this. 

Dylan is, like, probably not gonna panic. 

“Either that’s a promise ring, or you two are fucking—what, engaged?” Brinksy says. “Guys, what the  _ fuck. _ ” 

“We’re—well,” Dylan gulps. “They’re not promise rings.” 

“No fucking shit,” Brinksy says. “I’m pretty sure you guys don’t qualify. So… are you engaged?” 

Dylan and Connor don’t say anything in response, and Brinksy gives them a frustrated look. 

“Alright, you two figure out whatever shit you want to tell me, I’m going to clear out,” he says, clearly annoyed, and Dylan feels bad, but also kind of thankful. 

“See ya,” he says weakly, and Brinksy just shoots him a glare before he grabs his phone and charger off the nightstand and slams the door behind him. 

There’s a second of silence, and then Connor says, “Well.” 

“Fuck,” Dylan says, burying his face in his hands. “This is not how I wanted to do this.” 

“Not how you wanted to do what?” Connor asks. 

“Tell him,” Dylan says. “Y’know, he’s—it’s Brinksy. I fucking love the dude, I don’t wanna, like, piss him off.“

“We were gonna have to eventually,” Connor says, but he sounds hesitant. 

“No shit,” Dylan says. “Just—we haven’t really talked about telling people, because—” 

“We don’t lie, but we don’t deny, yeah,” Connor finishes. 

“Yeah,” Dylan says. “It’s—are you alright if I talk to him alone about this?” 

“Sure, whatever you need,” Connor says. “I’m so sorry, babe.” 

“It’s okay, it’s—it was a mistake. I’m surprised it took this long for something like this to happen,” Dylan says, giving Connor a small smile. 

“Well, when I broke my collarbone last year, a bunch of people saw my necklace, but assumed it was, uh, a family thing?” Connor says. 

“What?” Dylan asks. “You never told me this.”

“I’m sorry, I—”

“No, it’s alright, you were dealing with a broken collarbone, I get it,” Dylan says. “Just—I didn’t know, is all. What’d you tell them?” 

“I mean… it is kind of a family thing, technically,” Connor says, his face red. 

Dylan’s been married for about a year and a half now, but sometimes it really hits him that he’s, like,  _ married.  _ “Family, yeah,” he says, soft and warm and smiling.

“I love you no matter what,” Connor says. “You should go talk to him.” 

“I will. I’ll talk to you later, alright?” Dylan says. 

“Of course,” Connor says. 

“Alright, bye,” Dylan says. 

“Bye,” Connor says, and Dylan ends the Skype call. 

He slips his ring into his pocket and gets up to go look for Brinksy, but it turns out that Brinksy is sitting right outside the door, charging his phone in a random hall outlet, his headphones in. Dylan taps him on the shoulder, and Brinksy startles. 

“Hey, man,” Dylan says. 

“Hi,” Brinksy says, getting up. “Look, you—I’m sorry I blew up. You guys—you have shit to deal with, and you don’t have to tell me anything.” 

“Oh,” Dylan says, a little taken aback. “Do you wanna, uh, come back in the room?” 

Brinksy nods, and they sit down on opposite beds. 

“So, uh, thanks for apologizing,” Dylan says. “I—look, we haven’t told anyone. We haven’t even told our parents, so. Uh, I don’t know what you’re assuming, I guess?” 

“I’m trying not to,” Brinksy says. “Just—well, I guess you and Davo are a—a forever thing, right? That’s what rings mean.” 

“That’s what rings mean,” Dylan confirms. 

“Listen, really, you guys don’t have to tell me,” Brinksy says, but Dylan digs through his pocket and pulls out a ring. 

“I mean, you know the part that matters. We’re—he’s it for me, I guess. And—uh, here’s what was on my hand that I wouldn’t show you before.” Dylan holds the ring between his thumb and forefinger, and fiddles around with it to resist the urge to slide it back on his finger. 

“Oh, wow,” Brinksy says. “Can I see?” 

Dylan nods, and hands the ring over to Brinksy. “It’s pretty boring,” he says. 

“Jeez, it’s all scratched,” are the first words out of Brinksy’s mouth, and it startles a laugh out of Dylan. 

“You’re the fucking worst,” Dylan says, laughing. 

“No, I mean—how long have you had it?” Brinksy asks. “I hope it’s not new.” 

“It’s not,” Dylan confesses. “I’ve had it for, like, a year and a half?”

“A year and a half?” Brinksy says, kind of incredulous. “What is—dude, is it engraved?” 

“Yeah,” Dylan says. 

“Oh my god,” Brinksy says. “That’s—is that supposed to be his number?” 

“That was his idea,” Dylan says. 

Brinksy looks up at Dylan, then bursts out laughing. “Of fucking course it was,” he says. “Dude, your boy is so fucking  _ lame.  _ That’s, like, so sappy.”

“Yeah, yeah, make fun,” Dylan says, blushing and smiling despite himself.

**……**

**Ryan Strome**

“Married,” Ryan says flatly, and Connor can feel Dylan’s hand tense up where it’s tangled in his, so he gives it a reassuring squeeze. 

“Yeah,” Connor says. “For, uh, a while.” 

“How long is a while?” Ryan asks. 

“Since… before the draft?” Dylan says. “I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you.” 

“But—how?” Ryan says. “Why? Just—what?” 

“We were young and impulsive,” Connor says. “And we could, so.” 

“It’s worked out fine,” Dylan adds. 

“Do Mom and Dad know?” Ryan asks Dylan. 

Dylan shakes his head. 

“And your parents?” he asks, turning to Connor.

Connor gulps. “Not yet.” 

“We’re gonna tell them eventually,” Dylan says. ”Just—when we’re older.” 

“So why are you telling me?” Ryan asks. 

Dylan looks at his lap, and Connor squeezes his hand again. “You’re the person I feel the worst lying to,” he says. “Please don’t be mad.” 

“Jesus, Dyl, I’m not mad,” Ryan says. “Just—y’know, incredibly surprised.” 

“We were kind of expecting that,” Connor says. “If you two, uh, wanted to talk alone, I can go.” 

“Do you wanna, Dyl?” Ryan says. 

Dylan shrugs. “I’m fine either way.” 

“Are you sure?” Connor says. “Don’t you guys want some, like, brother time?” 

“Well, you’re technically my brother too, now,” Ryan says with a smile. 

Connor grins, this small, warm thing, because Ryan’s acceptance means the world to the both of them, and it’s nice, to be treated like family. 

“Thanks,” Dylan says earnestly. “You’re the best, Ry.” 

“Really,” Connor says. 

“I’m happy for you two,” Ryan says. “I mean, I guess I could give Davo a shovel talk, but I think we all know that I’m kicking his ass if he hurts you.” 

“Yeah, that’s old news,” Dylan says. 

“I’d deserve it,” Connor says. “But we’re not gonna hurt each other any time soon.” 

Dylan puts his head on Connor’s shoulder, and Connor runs his thumb over the place where Dylan’s wedding band would be, if they weren’t in public. It’s a brunch place in Arizona, but still, better safe than sorry. 

Someday, they’ll be married adults, and everyone will know, and they can wear their rings wherever they want, but for now, they can at least hold hands in public, and Connor’s pretty sure that everyone who can see them can tell that his heart belongs to Dylan for the rest of their lives just by looking at his face. 

That part, at least, has never been a secret. 

**Author's Note:**

> alex debrincat, for the rest of his life: "there's no way they're married. that would be crazy. they're so young, but--god, am i reading too much into this? _are_ they married? no, there's no way--but, like, what if?"


End file.
